Fire Road Book Novels & Stories

Stupid heart. A book dropped to my desk and before I could speak, the culprit walked away in haste with Zayn. It was his chemistry book. Was he lending it to me? Or was he setting a trap? He might tell people that I stole it because I missed the class. Well, since he dropped it, I might as well look at it. I browsed through it, gradually getting to the topic we had learned that day. It was well-detailed, more than the previous notes.

It wasn’t her though; it was Osline, but it’s still the same thing. I had to burn my hand to match the exact pain she’s probably feeling, to punish myself. I know it’s crazy, but like I said, I can’t help it. After I rinse away the spilled coffee, I open the cupboard and pull out my lighter. For a moment my stomach drops. I stare at it, heart racing in my ribs. I flick the flame and press it to my arm. I hold back my scream as it keeps burning me. This is what happens when I can’t stop thinking about ‘her’ I have to hurt myself until I can stop.

He thrust it under water and extinguished it; but within a minute several more lumps came flaming down, followed by a stream of burning fluid that hissed and smoked on the surface of the running water. Joe had picked up a shovel as he ran down, and now he cautiously flung sand on the water. Fire spattered fiercely in all directions. The dry brush along the road ignited, but he was able to beat it out. Running up to the top of the bank, he yelled at the top of his voice. “Here! This way! Help!”

There was a fire place which they made in order to keep themselves warm. All of them where seen gathered around the fire like it was a committee of witches having their meeting, planning on a mission to devour. Each of them was putting on thick article of clothing to help the body warm faster. The cold was much like it was winter. It’s a known phenomenon that areas surrounded by water are most often cool especially the cool breeze that makes one thing that he or she was about to freeze. That’s because, during the day, the sun heats hard on the ground producing heat that helps warm the rivers, then at night, the river produced immense cool breeze that helps to keep the ground cold. It exhibit

When midnight approached, the Alpha of the rogues had a big fire made, and in it burned several herbs. With open arms, she begins to speak in a language that no one understands. The flames grow higher and higher and burn black and red as she, screaming louder and louder, casts the spell. With a roar that made the rogues whimper in fear, the flames break away from the fire and fly straight at the Red River Pack, covering the entire sky, and falling on the pack.

The distant echo of sirens. And then— Air. Cold, crisp, blessed air. The night sky stretched above them as Rafael carried her out into the open street, the glow of the fire painting the world in gold and crimson. She gasped in deep, desperate breaths, her body shaking violently. He set her down on the pavement, his hands gripping her shoulders as he steadied her. “Breathe,” he ordered. She did. Ragged. Shaky. The fire raged behind them, the roar of it mixing with the distant shouts of approaching firefighters. The bookstore—the only place she had ever found peace—was disappearing into the flames.

Not scared. Glowing. Not from fire. From me. From us. Link came to my side, blood on his hands, cuts on his chest. I touched his wounds—they sizzled shut. And from the shadows, Ember approached, dragging one survivor by the hair. “What do you want done with him?” she asked. I looked at Logan. He stared at the man. Then said, “Let him crawl home. Let him warn them.” And that’s when I knew: Logan didn’t just carry the fire. He was the flame.

Dry grass had been carefully arranged beneath every body. The white-covered forms rested peacefully upon them. Maria lay among them. I nearly lost my composure. Marten gently touched my arm. Silent support. Nothing more. Nothing less. I inhaled shakily. Then lowered the torch. The flame touched the grass. For a moment, nothing happened. Then fire erupted. It spread swiftly. One pyre. Then another. Then another. Soon flames consumed every funeral bed. The fire climbed high into the dark heavens. Orange. Gold.

(Anton POV) Fire is a language. A lot of people think it destroys and burns everything. But fire speaks. It tells you who is afraid. Who runs. Who comes back screaming. I watched the smoke rise from the coastline through the tinted glass of my car and smiled. Damian Blackwood came running. Of course he did. He always does. The man is literally predictable. “Was the message delivered?” I asked calmly. “Yes, sir,” my man replied from the front seat. “She survived.”

If it is useful to her, even though it's hurting thousands, but still she considers it as a good thing. If she doesn't like something, even though its benefits others, she will consider it as bad. That's how much the fire changes her attitude. Alvin and Alpine are searching for the book on Fairy fire, which will tell a way to help Nyra. Alvin doesn't want to give his daughter to the fairy fire. "Brother, is this the one?" Alpine removed a very old book, which has a thick layer of dust accumulated on it. He dusted the book, which made him cough with discomfort.